forestmusic_300字

with hymns to meat and moon -

　　When the great gray owl in the pine

　　asks who with his curious song -

　　my spirit dances.

I know not who wrote the grand

　　symphony, but when the loon adorns

　　the sun that sets so gently into clear

　　waters with an answer to my flute -

　　larger questions ignite me.

The capelin voices of a thousand

　　tree frogs play the chorus of spring

　　to the echo of the first nation”s

　　ghost drums, as if the twittering

　　woodcock need the beat

　　to describe endless circles.

Cicadas drone the heady elixir of

　　summer to imagined rhythms of corn

　　that grows inches overnight, the murmur

　　of the creek knows the sound of

　　clearer waters, bound by gravity

　　to flow south with the geese, those

　　Troubadours of autumn.

　 These are the songs that know me...